


we are only what we always were

by okamicree



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Accidental Plot Turned Planned Plot, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Will Die For Comments/Feedback, Canon-Typical Violence, Chronic Pain, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Feels, Flashbacks, Flashbacks in Past Tense, Gen, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, Hell Flashbacks, If you only read one work by me, Jesse McCree & Genji Shimada Are Best Friends, Just Flashbacks Everywhere, Latino Gabriel Reyes, Latino Jesse McCree, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Mild Weird Plot Shit, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Physical Disability, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Recall, Present is Present Tense, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes Redemption, Sweet Jesse McCree, The Author Regrets Nothing, it makes sense at the end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-20 09:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14891703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okamicree/pseuds/okamicree
Summary: “Peace. It is a providence, and no great change;we are only what we always were,but naked now.”― Arthur Miller, The Crucible⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯A portrayal of life before the Recall but post-Overwatch, featuring a lot of flashbacks to Blackwatch era, childhoods, Reyes being an ass, and BROTP!McGenji. In other words: McCree and the Shimada brothers really need some therapy.NOTE: THIS WORK IS OFFICIALLY DISCONTINUED. I plan to revisit this universe at some point, but my muse for this fic has long-since passed.





	1. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Genji remembers both the pains of living and the joys of smoking.

"The human body can only withstand a certain amount of pain before its nerves eventually become numb. The cyborg body, on the other hand, has no threshold for pain."

Genji dimly recalls this through the haze of pain that constricts him. Angela's words softly repeat in the back of his mind on the best of days, and today they are screaming. She had told him moments after he awoke for the first time in his new body, when he lacked even the energy to scream. Some days, his troubles are more mental than physical, but this is not one of those days. Today, his demons have attacked on both fronts: the mattress beneath his back feels like concrete, and the memory of his brush with death not only replays in his dreams, but also haunts him when he is awake. If he were still capable of it, Genji is almost certain he would have woken up in a cold sweat.

The robotic systems conditional to his survival — the damn systems that keep him in this hell, he thinks to himself, — tell him it is roughly two in the morning.

"This is a fate so much worse than death, Hanzo, you goddamn bastard!" he grits out.

After several failed attempts to shift his weight off of his back, Genji finally manages to turn over onto his side. Whatever limited energy he had upon waking has left him. As he slowly opens his eyes, a light is just barely visible through the cracks in his door. It's one that Genji recognizes immediately. Given that Zenyatta's approach would otherwise be silent, Genji had asked when he first began living with him that the monk give him a sign he was nearby before he entered. Whenever the light appears, it is a silent knock.

Surprises, among other things, are no longer happy for the younger Shimada brother.

"I apologize if I have disturbed your rest, Master... I did not think you could hear me. Enter if you wish." he calls out.

Shambali doctrine embraces restraint and minimalism in all things, and so all of the buildings within the abbey are sparsely furnished. This philosophy results in his room having only a bed, a large rug, and a wooden bedside table. It's something Genji still struggles to appreciate. The light slowly spreads and illuminates the room as Zenyatta lets himself in.  One of his orbs glows softly like a candle as it floats above his upturned left hand. In his other hand, he holds a small glass that he sets on Genji's bedside table.

"My student, let me assure you I would be far more disturbed if I did not know you were troubled." His voice is as gentle as always. In spite of the empty space surrounding them, the room suddenly feels much cozier. Genji quickly wills himself into a sitting position and grabs the glass, taking a long drink.

His lips curl into a soft smile — it's warm milk.

"Thank you, Master."

"Certainly. Now, what uneases the sparrow so far from dawn?"

Genji does not answer. He does not _need_ to say anything. The omnic knows what plagues him, whether he manages to verbalize it or not. Genji shuts his eyes, leans back, and when he opens them again minutes later, Zenyatta is back as if he has never left. He holds a stick of incense in one hand and a box of matches in the other.

"Thank you, Master." the cyborg whispers as he takes them from him.

"You are welcome, sparrow.  Make sure that you put it out before you fall asleep."

And with that, he is gone, his form still glowing and disappearing down the hallway. Genji opens the box and takes one of the thin wooden matches. Almost like a ritual, he strikes it _once, twice, three times_ before it finally stays around long enough to light the stick. He takes a deep and long inhale. The scent is distinct, but the feeling is familiar. 

Genji breathes in sharply, feels the flame warm his mouth and chest.

He allows himself to return to the first time he indulged this vice of his.

* * *

The Venice incident still hung like a shadow over their minds. Genji had _almost_ managed to unsee Antonio's body as it went flying out the window. Jesse's screams, Moira's strange silence, and Reyes... The look on Reyes' face was a familiar one. Cold, unfeeling, whatever he truly felt masked beneath the veneer of leadership. He recalled the words out of Jesse's mouth as the dropship neared.

"This is all your fault, Commander!"

 _Commander._ Jesse did not often call him Commander. It was a title that was used only in times of despair, fear, extreme anger, or sometimes, very rarely, out of happiness.

Generally, it was always Reyes. _Reyes this, Reyes that, Reyes, Reyes, Reyes.._.

At times, when Genji lingered in the training room a bit too long, he would hear Jesse call the commander Gabe. Once, he had called him Dad. It always felt as if it were something he should not be witnessing, something in which he had no part. Those moments, those brief rare flickers of domesticity in what was otherwise a chaotic swirl... It reminded him, perhaps a bit too much, of his own upbringing. Of Sojiro, of Hanzo.

 _Hanzo._ The name in his mind even now brought back images that he could not bring himself to describe. He was a violent man. He had always been violent since that incident. In his youth, he was a playboy. A kingpin with less duties as the second born heir than most princes. Yet at this moment, in the Venice hotel room..

No, not the Venice hotel room. Time slipped between his fingers and it became confused.

Whenever he thought of Hanzo, whenever he thought of the Venice incident, whenever he thought about any of the things that had transpired between when he was human and when he was not, everything became a great knot he could not untangle.

The flame at the end of Jesse's lighter flickered _once, twice,_ and on the third try finally stayed around long enough for him to light the end of the paper hanging off of his lower lip.

"You ever smoked?" the gunslinger drawled, taking a long drag before he exhaled through his mouth. Genji hesitated, then slowly nodded.

"When I was human, yes. Quite often. Cigarettes are, ah, actually more common in Japan than America."

He withheld that it was one of his family's first complaints. Nicotine had masked his natural scent for many of his teenage years. The question took him back to Angela again, her joking with him as he laid in the medical bay about how _his lungs were some of the hardest parts to repair and Hanzo hadn't even hit them._

"I mean, 'sides cigarettes. Y'ever tried Mary Jane? She's a fine lady."

No, Genji had never smoked anything besides cigarettes, but he need not say it. Therefore, he did not say it, and he did not _think_ either as he extended his palm.

Jesse took whatever it was - _it looks like a cigarette._ Genji supposed, _and so he will call it a cigarette_ , out of his mouth and handed it to him.

He placed it gently between what were once his lips. The taste was bitter. It filled his lungs and his chest with a warmth that was only before known to him through nicotine, but was  _far_ better than nicotine. More flavorful, more calming, less likely to kill him... He wondered cynically if smoking would have been what killed him in the end, if not for Hanzo.

Something deep inside of him loosened as he inhaled and exhaled. The knot that had been tied permanently in his stomach started to come undone just a little. Finally, he could breathe. The knot was still there, he _knew_ it was still there, that it would always be there until, perhaps, the day that he died, but it was looser — and that was more than he had ever expected it to be.

He had not smoked since the incident. Yet now, here, sitting in the Blackwatch dormitory as the screen on the wall flickered between footage from Venice and a very tired looking newscaster, he felt that he could.

He wondered for a moment what else he could do that was once impossible, and inhaled again to watch the embers light up and glow a bright orange.

"Hey, pass it back. Don't you know the rule? Puff, puff, pass?" Jesse muttered.

Genji turned his head slowly and looked at him. "There is no such thing as.. whatever it is you just said, where I am from. They do not do that with cigarettes."

He complied nevertheless, taking the lit flame out of his mouth and passing it to Jesse. The scent of the room was familiar to _him_ , surely. As he blew rings with the smoke, Genji could tell he had done this before.

"Is this allowed?" Genji had the sense to ask before the thought floated off into the haze filling the room.

"You think Reyes gives a damn? Naw, he's the one who allows it. He's smoked it before, me and him, back in the day. 'Fore I was a Blackwatch kid and was just a convict sittin' in the back of his helicopter. They were all 'hey, kid. You wanna join Blackwatch, or rot in a cell for the rest of your life?' and then he held out a joint to me too. Course, I would've gone with 'em anyway. That was just a.. little bit of an incentive to a guy like me. It's part of how I ended up here. Sometimes - he'll never admit it, mind ya - I've seen Reyes get stoned sometimes before he goes in and meets with Jack. Er, Morrison. _Commander_ Morrison. Hell, he's been around the block too, probably, but he don't like it."

Jesse paused and snorted derisively. He tapped some ash off of the end of the paper, where it blended in seamlessly with the room's carpet.

"Says it compromises our integrity. I think, you know, you already got one of your best pals sittin' around runnin' an undercover wing of a government organization, and you think you can preach about integrity? You know, let somebody smoke their damn weed while they're off saving the world. At least if I die, I can die knowing 'damn, I took a real good hit a couple times, and it was all on your paycheck.'"

The flame died out just as Genji was about to have his turn again. He settled for greedily inhaling the fumes that remained, and his eyes trailed Jesse as he moved from his perch at the end of his bunk. "So what do you think of the ganja, ninja?" he hummed as the last remnants disappeared into the garbage.

"I think that I would like to have some again. Perhaps when we are not as close to death."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh dear god this has taken so long and it's only the first chapter. literally took me, like, a week? urgh.
> 
> it's currently 2:30am as i'm writing this note and i just finished this so i apologize if it's a mess. this is my first work in the overwatch fandom and an attempt to get myself back into writing before i take a creative writing class next fall. ah, senior year of high school..
> 
> i have cptsd, chronic pain, and have dealt with substance abuse issues myself. i by no means want to offend anyone with my portrayal of any of those mental/physical conditions, or any others that may appear later in this work. my writing about them is based off of my own experiences, and any others will be researched thoroughly.
> 
> this is very much a "make-it-up-as-i-go" sort of fic in regards to the plot but i hope you all enjoy whatever may come next. thank you so far if you've gotten through 1.7k of angsty angst. comments and constructive criticism are the hills i will die on, thank you once again. 
> 
> my tumblr is @okamicree if you'd like to contact me regarding this as well. <3


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we take a visit back to the Shimada brothers' childhood, and McCree remembers some things.
> 
> TW: implied suicide/child abuse

Sojiro Shimada had always wanted the best for his sons.  
  
His strict disciplinary regimen began the moment a newborn Hanzo cried for the first time. Sojiro left him to wail alone. The assumptive heir to the Shimada empire would, eventually, exhaust himself from screaming. Sojiro insisted it built character.  
  
While the empress of the Shimada clan had fought against her husband's methods fiercely at first, she had become complicit after the arrival of her second son. Genji was not only unplanned, but a difficult delivery. After his birth, the painkillers she had been prescribed led her to fall into a routine based more on indulging in the family's plentiful caches of illicit substances than nurturing their children. Despite his philosophy, however, Sojiro had never enjoyed laying hands on either of the two in anger. It was a duty that he relegated to the servants for much of the boys' childhoods.  
  
The clan was never in short supply of grunts aspiring to work for one of the largest criminal empires in the nation, and therefore Sojiro had no qualms with dismissing them just as easily as he hired them. If they raised any objection to his child-rearing practices, they would not be raised above ground again. Countless civilian lives were nothing when measured against those of his sons; it was as simple as that.  
  
Another part of Sojiro's doctrine ensured that Hanzo and Genji would spend much of their time apart, the walls of the castle — and around themselves — only lowering at familial celebrations. Hanzo grew to dread even his birthday, of all days. It was another reminder of the burdens that grew heavier and heavier upon him. As children, the brothers' only commonality was the beatings they received for minor transgressions. Later, once they entered adolescence, even that was no longer a constant. The distance between them grew farther and farther.

While Hanzo was groomed to become a worthy successor to Sojiro, Genji was left to do what he willed — with Sojiro's blessing.  
  
It was only when the emperor of the clan passed on that the sparrow's wings were clipped by the elders. Their mother was still as much of an absent presence as ever, often seen but little heard. Sojiro's death served only as what finally severed her completely from a reality she had long been drifting away from. Later, when she heard of Genji's death, she could scarcely force a reaction to play at her glassy eyes, perpetually running nose, and ghostly complexion.

That evening, she left the earth behind and reunited with Sojiro.  
  
The ties that once bound the family together were so loose, it was no surprise they broke so easily.  
  
Hanzo burns four sticks of incense when he breaks into his former home each year and repents as the threads of smoke curl and intertwine. The lives of guards are nothing when measured against that of his family's.

* * *

As he clenches the metallic joints of his prosthetic arm, Jesse finally understands Genji's complaints.

The vigilante had emphasized with his struggles to be grateful for his life before, but only in the context of mixed feelings toward Blackwatch. Now, nursing the pains of a phantom limb and attempting to adjust the sleeve of his flannel shirt around its replacement, his heart aches alongside his body. Losing his arm months ago has been enough of a traumatic experience for him. That Genji could continue on with that feeling in his _entire body.._ It astounds him.

"Dammit." he huffs.

The sleeve refuses to cooperate, continually wrinkling and getting caught around his forearm. He gets up and shuffles into the bathroom. A pair of scissors is luckily hidden among the motel's toiletries. With his good arm, he proceeds to cut all the sleeves off of his shirts. He stuffs the scraps of cloth in a nearby drawer; he'll be gone before housekeeping shows up anyway. Jesse's never been one to stay in one place for long, and reports of Talon hunting down former Overwatch agents provide him some additional motivation.

He wonders sometimes what became of his former associates. He knows that some Overwatch agents have been tracked down by whatever psychopathic Talon employees want to rid the world of anything related to the organization, but he's not so sure about the Blackwatch squadron. Rumors say that Moira's under Talon employment now. Truthfully, that doesn't surprise him much. She always seemed the sort of woman to follow the money, regardless of its morality. He never trusted her, but she would never be one to dirty her hands with more murders than necessary.

Of course, he knows Reyes is buried alongside Morrison down in Arlington — though neither of their bodies were ever recovered from the blast. The investigators had only found their dog tags. Jesse was allowed (after some persuasion on his part) to keep those of the Blackwatch commander. He was the closest thing they had to a next-of-kin. Jack's tags, on the other hand, were given to Ana's daughter, since her mother was his official second-in-command.

He thinks of Genji much more often than the others, especially these days. When they first met, Jesse couldn't help but see a reflection of his teenage self in front of him. His unwillingness to betray any emotion in public, his refusal to speak unless spoken to, his frequent trips to Angela.. Most of all, how he struggled to come to grips with the hypocrisy of Overwatch and Blackwatch.

Jesse had endured it all. To his credit, however, Genji handled the realities of the situation with much more maturity than he had in those days. The assassin was a man of few words for good reason: because he knew Jesse had not been.

Gabriel (and occasionally Jack) would often make an example of him to the other agents. He was a thorn in their sides one moment, and their greatest asset the next. Reyes would additionally season his complaints with Spanish curses. His Mexican dialect was evident in his most common term of endearment: _pinche vaquero._ No matter how caring he might have acted toward the younger man at times, the words flying off his tongue made sure Jesse knew his place on the totem pole.

He was still just, in Reyes' words, a fucking cowboy, and the lashing he received on the way back from Rialto was proof of that.

* * *

"Don't you dare go all Jackie-boy on me about changing the plan around. That isn't your place to question, and it sure as hell isn't in the middle of a mission!"

Reyes was furious. His voice boomed in the back aisles of the dropship, loud enough to stir Genji from his slumber for a moment. His head shifted slightly from its perch against Jesse's left side as he let out a few questioning murmurs. The gunslinger's eyes flashed with anger toward his commander as he gestured toward the assassin.

"Your trigger-happy ass could've gotten him killed back there because you wanted to violate protocol!"

He didn't see Reyes' hand coming.

"Do not _ever_ forget that I am your _superior._ You _will_ respect me as such." he growled.

In all of his years as a member of Blackwatch, Jesse had never seen the commander so calculatedly cold.

He punctuated his next sentence with another slap. "Am I _fucking_ understood, McCree?"

The man in question reeled back, now unsure if the pounding in his head was from the pressure in the cabin or the force of the blows. Both sides of his face burned, but the pain was more than physical — he hadn't been struck out of discipline since he was a boy. Avoiding eye contact, he looked down at Genji. 

"Yes, Commander."

Genji did not question the distinctive hand prints he saw later. The marks were still there when they smoked together, and for the next few days afterward as well, but he seemed to take no notice of them. Unlike his face, Jesse's ego was able to remain somewhat intact.

* * *

Among countless other losses in the explosion, the files regarding the Venice incident and the Shimada clan were destroyed.

The flames lapped up the remains of Blackwatch's operations along with the commanders. While Genji had been present at the duo's funerals, he had seemingly vanished afterward. For all his efforts, Jesse had had no luck in contacting Genji again. He gave up eventually, and now supposes it's for the better. He knows that if he were to travel with _any_ of the Overwatch agents again, they would be easier targets for Talon.

He  _really_ doesn't expect his past to show up as he's checking out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rest assured this is still a shimada bro-centric fic, but lbr mccree definitely is dealing with a lot too. 
> 
> we're still in the baby stages of this fic so i'll be updating much more than usual; i'm doing my best to think of a consistent update schedule for later, but i'm unsure since i value quality over quantity. i'm thinking once we've gotten fairly deep into things i'll update once a week. possibly more if i'm feeling particularly inspired. 
> 
> kudos, comments, etc. mean the world to me. every hit i get makes my heart sing a little. <3
> 
> tumblr: @okamicree


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Zenyatta becomes much more omnic for a second, and Gabe is a cowboy.

"Genji, are you certain that you wish to do this?"

"It is my duty to him."

"You have no duty but to yourself."

The orb resting between the master and his student rises slowly, opening its center with a soft hiss of air to reveal a glass lens.

"I.. Yes, I understand. I want to."

A cricket chirps softly in the distance. The evening has long-since begun, yet the abbey is unusually quiet. The other omnics have seemingly dispersed, unwilling to bear witness to the proceedings. Genji is unsure whether it violates their doctrine, but Zenyatta's willingness to do this makes him think that it must be allowable on circumstances as dire as this.

"Very well. As you wish it, sparrow."

With those words, holographs begin to flash onto the blank wall of Genji's bedroom. The omnic's head lowers, all energy focused on the projections. Genji inhales sharply through his nose, exhales through his mouth, and promptly disables his eye cybernetics. He runs his hand over what scarred flesh he can still feel, and a silent prayer passes his lips before he raises his palm again and points.

"Initiate contact with Hanzo Shimada."

"Establishing audiovisual up-link."

He knows Zenyatta is still there, only hidden beneath his more baser programming in order to do him a great service, yet he still feels ill at ease speaking to the great monk as if he were nothing but a machine.

"Thank you, Master."

"I do not understand this command."

"Up-link status."

"Connecting, one remaining—"

The omnic falls silent, for there, shining out of the dark night, is Hanzo. He is dressed in his usual formal attire, the same cleanly pressed suit he once wore to meetings with the clan elders. Genji wonders, briefly, if he wore the same outfit at the meeting that determined his fate. He looks so close, so real, almost larger than life as a three-dimensional projection.

The brothers do not speak for a long moment. They only look at each other, neither willing to speak first.

Hanzo drops to his knees with a loud crash. Genji reflexively muffles a surprised yelp, tensing and glancing quickly around him before turning back to see his brother, knelt in front of him. He sees, oddly, a bow and a quiver of arrows scattered around him as well. When they were boys, however little they spoke, one of the things Genji knew about his elder brother was that he always preferred the study of the blade over archery.

Nevertheless, he does not question it now. Surely, they will have time to speak later.

 _"Anisama."_ Genji whispers the title reverently.

Hanzo's head snaps upward upon hearing his metallic-tinged voice, his eyes suddenly wild.

"Real life is not like the stories my father told me. This cannot be reality."

Genji steels himself. He had anticipated this to happen, though he hoped it would not. Truthfully, he's surprised Hanzo answered at all.

"I am more real than you think, brother. If you do not believe me, there is a man you may find to convince you. He is as human as I once was. His name is Jesse McCree."

The last words fly off of his tongue uncontrollably. He cannot stop himself, though he regrets it immediately. Surely, he has put him in more danger. It was precisely to avoid this scenario that he had cut off contact with his closest friend in the first place, yet now here he is, dragging him into the war between them.

He regrets it even more when Hanzo begins to shake, broken and unhinged. He lunges toward the camera, his bow drawn and aimed at a target he cannot hit.

"You are not my brother! If you are anything real, then you are a demon, a  _yokai!_ You are sent to haunt me!"

Genji gives him a last sorrowful look.

"Terminate up-link. Reboot."

The image disappears, the orb shutting tightly once again and hiding its lens. Zenyatta lifts his head, his systems returning to their normal state. His orbs cast their usual comforting soft glow. In the silence between them, his hand rests on his student's shoulder. Genji has learnt something new about his cyborg body, for once.

With his optical cybernetics disabled, he is able to cry.

* * *

From the hue of his skin to the dark rings below his eyes, this man looks like the human embodiment of rust.

His jaw clenches slightly as he lifts a slim black duffel bag off of the lobby's floor and slings it over one shoulder. The leather strap nearly blends in with the back of his mussed chestnut hair. It hides entirely once he flings a red shawl over his broad shoulders. As he walks, his boots audibly click against the varnished wood. As he retrieves a wad of crumpled bills from the pockets of his denim jeans and tosses it onto the counter, he mutters a quiet gruff 'thank ya kindly, miss' before turning towards the door. Once the glass panel swings shut behind him, he's seemingly oblivious to the light footsteps behind him. So much, in fact, that his assailant is able to trail him down the street and into an alleyway.

This is not what Hanzo had expected out of a former member of the illustrious Blackwatch.

How he ends up with a black revolver pressed against his right temple, however, matches perfectly with history. In fact, the man had seemed to follow protocol to a T — minus, thankfully, Blackwatch's habit of shooting first and asking questions later. He took down the hunter almost embarrassingly quickly, and presently has him held nearly in a choke-hold.

Hanzo's plan was supposed to be infallible, yet he surmises this outcome was entirely predictable in retrospect. It was not easy to have found him; surely, it would not be easy to find him off-guard.

 "Who the hell sent you my way, and what do they want?"

Whatever his looks may be, it's as if the metal this man is made of is still as new and glistening as his left arm once he speaks. His voice is low and threatening in Hanzo's ear, which would be attractive under any number of other possible circumstances.

He eyes the dog tags around the man's neck, squinting to read the lettering etched into the ash-marked silver. _REYES, GABRIEL. O NEG. CATHOLIC._ reads the first. The Social Security number is almost charred beyond recognition, though Hanzo can make out the number _43._ The second tag is in a slightly better state, and reads _TO PROTECT AND SERVE._ _USOC SEP REGIMENT 01. OVW SPEC OPS COMMAND._ At the bottom of it is a bald eagle, with one of its talons perched atop an American flag, and another resting on the Overwatch emblem.

For a moment, Hanzo fears he has gone after the wrong man.

"Are you.. Gabriel Reyes?"

A trace of unreadable emotion flashes briefly over his captor's otherwise stone cold face. His right index finger twitches slightly, and for a moment the elder Shimada fears that the brass of the man's BAMF-emblazoned belt buckle will be the last thing he ever sees. His metallic hand, the one not imminently about to splatter his brain matter across the pavement, tightens its grip on the back of his neck. The collar of his white shirt had been tight before, but now the pressure is almost suffocating.

"You have five seconds to answer my questions, or I will not hesitate to pull this trigger."

 _Damn,_ has Hanzo underestimated him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa geez this took so much out of me tbh BUT HEY IT'S GETTING GOOD NOW BABES  
> hope y'all enjoy
> 
> comments make me so so so happy. kudos and bookmarks/subscriptions are nice too but man, comments are a whole other level. props if you notice the details/little callbacks on gabe's dog tags!
> 
> as always, thank you for reading, and my tumblr is @okamicree!


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hanzo gets a beating, and someone gets a very important tape.

Jesse would shoot this damned jackass dead right now if not for the fact he wants to get some information out of him first.

Who is this man to _dare_ speak the name of the commander? He's probably some Talon hired gun, a low-grade thug hoping he can make himself look better (and collect a rather sizable bounty) by bagging up a former Blackwatch member. The wrath he feels must be clear in his eyes, since his prize's face seems to have almost drained of all color.

"I-I only ask because your tags say so." the man squawks. His accent is more pronounced in his fear. It's strangely familiar, in some way that Jesse can't quite place in his current state of violent fury.

Jesse's left hand releases his shirt collar. Before the Talon bastard has a chance to react, he slams the metal of his palm roughly against his back and forces him to the ground. The man lets out a groan of pain, but immediately forces himself to fall silent as the barrel of the revolver presses harder into his pale skin.

He's reminded, for a moment, of how his commander would execute the same sort of operatives. From grunts to high-ranking officers, his method was always the same. For some particularly egregious offenses, however, he would drag out the process. After the Venice incident, though, he seemed to almost take _pleasure_ in the killings, rather than simply the cold vengeance that had motivated him before.

Every new Blackwatch agent was forced to, if not participate themselves, at least bear witness to one such killing during their service. It toughened them and prepared them for what lay ahead, both commanders had explained. It was one of very few things that the two agreed on. Jesse had always thought it hypocritical; they had all seen enough violence in their lifetimes. And, even disregarding that, why was it not a prerequisite of the regular Overwatch wing as well?

It was yet another memory of his past that would eat at him if he allowed himself to think about it for too long. Memories of Blackwatch and fears of being recognized are bad enough for Jesse as it is, but being mistaken for the commander himself is a whole other animal.

"I am _**not**_ Gabriel Reyes." he spits, before violently wrenching the man's head upward to force him to look into his eyes.

Blackwatch personnel were never allowed to be mournful. Casualties were casualties. If this man died, it would mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. He would simply have one less bullet in Peacekeeper's chamber.

"Now tell me who _fucking_ sent you."

He expects it to be Talon, almost certainly. His trigger finger is ready, willing, and able to end this pitiful bounty hunter as soon as he hears the name of the organization leave his mouth.

"Something that claims to be Genji Shimada."

Jesse swallows.

"And who are you?"

He refuses to betray any more emotion on his countenance than he already has. He keeps his voice as level as possible, though his grip on the man's neck loosens to a noticeable degree.

"I am Hanzo Shimada. His elder brother. A wanted criminal in multiple jurisdictions. I am looking for a man named Jesse McCree."

His revolver slowly returns to its holster at his waist. Under Reyes, the agent known as McCree had been conditioned to feel nothing. The man Jesse, on the other hand, suddenly feels everything. Wordlessly, he lifts Hanzo up and gently helps him onto his feet. 

"Genji always told me that if I ever met ya, you goddamned son of a bitch, he wanted me to beat the living  _shit_ outta you."

He gives Hanzo one more blow, a kick directly to his clan jewels.

"I reckon that'll do fine."

* * *

"Boss, I've got something you might find _very_ interesting.."

"Quit screwing around and give it to me already, I don't have time for this."

"Hang on, let me just play it for you."

The wraith gazes through the slits of his mask at the holopad screen for only a second before he yanks it out of the agent's hands.

"You're right, this _is_ interesting. Now leave, and tell everyone not to disturb me. No exceptions."

"But you have a meeting with Madame Lacroix and Dr. O'Deorain in five minutes!" the redhead objects. She makes an indignant sound of protest as well, only silencing when he glowers at her and smoke begins to billow around him.

"Cancel it. I said _no exceptions._ This is personal business."

The young woman rolls her eyes, but complies. Like most Talon agents, she'd sooner die than face his wrath. Those events, given his usual demeanor, would most likely occur in reverse order. At the tap of a button, she's subsequently vanished back to wherever in the facility she's stashed her trans-locator beacon.

Satisfied at the lack of further interruptions, the Reaper mentally prepares himself for the ordeal of removing his mask. He nearly howls in the darkness of his office as it falls to the table with a thud. The sensation of any light on his bare face is excruciatingly painful, but he has to be certain of what he thinks he saw — photophobia be damned.

He quickly finds that the pain was worth it, because what lies before him is a veritable goldmine of information. Jesse and the fabled other Shimada brat, out with each other in broad daylight? That kid always was a fool, especially when it came to observing his surroundings. He hadn't even noticed the traffic cameras nearby.

If the two of them are there, then certainly Genji will follow. His brother and his best friend from the old days in the same place would definitely be enough of a temptation to lure him out of wherever the hell he is, and then there would be three less targets on his hit list.

"Oh, this'll be a slaughter.. You've gotten out of my sights for the last time, _pinche vaquero._ " he chuckles darkly to himself.

As much as he likes the idea of terminating them all, though, they might be of more use to Talon as recruits. He supposes he'll discuss it with Akande whenever the time comes. For now, though, he's got places to be, and a certain gunslinger to keep a very close eye on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my only note for this chapter is that i am so sorry for what i'm about to do to y'all.
> 
> kudos/comments/subs/bookmarks all make my soul ascend to another plane.
> 
> tumblr: @okamicree


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Genji is triggered in the proper sense of the word, and Jesse and Hanzo hijack a car.
> 
> Main songs I listened to while writing these scenes, in order of appearance:
> 
>   * [Zen gets Genji back to the present.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b6L684kzTvc)
>   * [McHanzo goes car-jacking.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jpelaelj14U)
>   * [Blackwatch flashbacks, part 3 of god knows how many.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8LvAiJYKoSM)
> 


Hanzo is about to kill his brother for the second time.

Genji does not struggle. He is utterly incapacitated, paralyzed and nearly catatonic on the ground. His breaths come rapidly and leave him lightheaded, but even if he were capable of fighting he knows it would be fruitless. These events will play out just as they have before, the pain exactly the same. The murderer fetches his bow, and its arrow fires. On its way, it morphs into the blade he first slew him with. His victim lets out an agonized scream as it stops just before piercing his chest.

Slowly, the lights of Shimada Castle start to dim into the darkness of wherever Hanzo had been upon answering his call.

"I am with you. He cannot hurt you here, Genji. Can you hear me yet?"

The castle falls away entirely as the white walls of his room in the abbey gradually come into focus around him. A much more comforting glow is there for his eyes to rest upon. The omnic has floated near where he has curled on the ground, not close enough to distress the cyborg further, but enough that his presence is known.

Genji moves to rest his head in his lap.

"Tekhartha, how have I become so weak?" he whispers. His voice is laced with static, and the start of a wave of hiccuping sobs echoes in the silence. Shutting his eyes once more, he inhales and settles himself fully in the present.

"To feel as deeply as you do is not a weakness. That you cry shows you are still human, and it is a gift that you are able to do so." the monk replies.

Genji is continually amazed at how, with only a few words, the rough seas within him become quiet and gentle again. His doubts still linger, though they are far less loud now. He cannot sleep until he has put to rest the worries plaguing him tonight.

"Do you not find me pitiful? That even just seeing him again could unease me so deeply that I needed you to come comfort me like some.. Some petulant child?"

He feels their systems connect for the briefest moment. Zenyatta is able to send codes that instantly translate as sensations to his human side. Genji can return certain codes or send his own without _needing_ to physically interact, but his humanity calls for the familiar gestures when he can; his physical actions are able to translate to the omnic in what is essentially the inverse operation.

This time, Zenyatta has given him some that manifest as hands rubbing warm and soft caresses across the small of his back.

"My sparrow.. I could never. You are so very strong, and I am so very proud of what you have overcome."

Genji shifts in order to look at him directly, then slowly tilts his head upward towards the omnic's. There are many perks to his cybernetics, but this is by far the best of them.

Their kiss feels as human as any other.

* * *

 "That smell is absolutely _repugnant._ How can you stand it?"

Jesse rolls his eyes, pulling the brim of his black hat lower over his forehead in an attempt to shield himself from the heat as they walk. Despite the lateness of the hour, the area is still just as suffocatingly humid. Having grown up down South, he had grown accustomed to the environment in his youth, but his time away has made it much more difficult to bear. His only solace, a lit joint, is held between his teeth. The warm breeze has decided to help matters between them by blowing its smoke in Hanzo's general direction, much to his vocal disapproval.

"Genji was a mighty big fan of it."

For his part, Jesse thinks it would do the other Shimada brother a hell of a lot of good too. Spying the clear pattern of finger-shaped bruises on the back of Hanzo's neck every time the archer outpaces him, however, he supposes the other man _does_ have a bit of a right to complain about such minor irritations.

"My brother would never have engaged in such nonsense!" Hanzo objects, indignantly adjusting his cuff links.

Jesse takes the opportunity to regain his lead in front of him, however slight of one it is.

"Y'know, I couldn't see it before, but you resemble him a lot."

"Of _course_ there is a resemblance, you.. Ah, how so?"

"Y'all sure do sound the same when you're angry."

Hanzo fumes wordlessly in step with him. As they head closer toward what was formerly the Deadlock gang's territory, the ex-con falls silent. Jesse's got some business to take care of, and he certainly isn't going to stop just because Genji's toothpick of a brother decided to come knocking. He's needed a more reliable form of transportation than walking for a while now, but completely lacks the money to snag a hover-car of his own. On the other hand, something about stealing some poor innocent person's ride just doesn't sit right with him.

The most ethical resolution to him is hijacking one of the gang's vehicles. After that, he had been unsure where his travels would take him next. If nothing else, he's thankful Hanzo's given him a direction. They've got to get to the nearest airport and down to Nepal, where Genji's supposedly holed up in some temple on a spirit journey.

Jesse stops dead in his tracks. Either someone's been expecting them, or they've gotten extraordinarily lucky: there's a Deadlock truck parked just down the road. He's midway through aiming Peacekeeper at the driver before Hanzo stops him.

"Unsophisticated."

The archer is decidedly not a hindrance to his plan. He can almost see Genji fighting alongside him there as they approach the car, in the fluid way Hanzo's body moves and knocks the driver out cold. He's scarily efficient, even with his injuries.

"Ya don't happen to have a license here, do you?" he asks once they've made sure the coast is clear.

"This is a _stolen car,_ and you are _visibly_ high. That is the least of our issues."

"Alright, fair point."

Jesse rides shotgun. It's been a while since he drove last, so he doesn't mind it too much.

* * *

"Floor it!"

As the aftermath of their latest successful mission rapidly faded into the background behind them, Jesse was content to comply with Reyes' command. The poor convertible the Blackwatch gang had stolen and used in this getaway, however, was much less willing to follow orders. No civilian hovercar was meant to go this fast. As much as the agent loved the sights and sounds that came with a next-generation Cadillac, the controls of this one struggled to bend to his will.

"One of you, do put the windows down when you have a moment. It is intolerably hot back here." Moira's voice rang out from the back.

"You suck at driving, you know that?" the commander continued, watching the performance with distaste from the seat next to him.

"Do y'all mind shuttin' the hell up for a minute?! Trying not to turn us into a real fine-looking smear on the interstate!"

Jesse's white-knuckled grip on the wheel relaxed slightly once he turned onto the exit he'd been looking for, but his foot was still poised to slam the brakes and let the son of God take over at a moment's notice. He comforted himself with the thought that, supposing they _did_ crash and burn, at least he'd be in one of his favorite vehicles.

"Quit looking out the damn rear view and focus!"

One of Jesse's hands reached into the center console. He had to dig around for a moment before he finally found the object of his desire and passed it to Reyes.

"Calm down and smoke. You're not you when you're sober."

A smirk played at his features as he heard the commander spark up. He knew ways of getting back on Reyes' good side like the back of his hand. The fact that the previous owner had a large amount of one way stashed there was an unexpected — but not unwelcome — surprise.

"The window, for God's sake!" Moira piped up once more.

The duo in the front seat exchanged exasperated looks. If anybody would benefit from the effects of some secondhand marijuana smoke, it was her.

"Oh, get the stick outta your ass for a minute, O'Deorain." Reyes groaned. The effects of the smoke had manifested quickly in his speech.

Even when sober, the commander leapt at the opportunity to chastise the team, but whatever limited filter he possessed went fully out the window once it combined with the plant he smoked. Jesse heard the telltale  _clunk_ of him reclining his seat a few seconds later. It was an intentional move, one that he employed frequently when the occupant of the seat behind him had pissed him off. It robbed the scientist of what little leg room she had. That he could then nap in comfort was just an additional bonus of the practice.

"You are doing fine, McCree."

Genji had rarely spoken more than one word when he was around the rest of the team. That he had, and done so _in his defense,_ no less.. The Cadillac had nearly crashed regardless.

"...Thank ya kindly."

The controls moved freely now, or perhaps it was the smoke. Jesse couldn't tell.

"None of you snitch to Jack about this."

"I wouldn't dream of such a thing, Commander."

"You're such a kiss-ass.  _Callate._ What, you wanna suck up so you can experiment on me later?"

Moira said nothing else for the entire ride back to headquarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW LADS i've gotten over 200 hits so far and i'm actually so amazed and happy?? thank you so so much for supporting this fic.
> 
> comments/kudos/subs/bookmarks make me go heart eyes.
> 
> [tumblr](http://okamicree.tumblr.com/tagged/works) | [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/okamicree)


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we see how the commanders were remembered.
> 
> Soundtrack to this chapter:
> 
>   * [The entirety of the first scene.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=51iquRYKPbs)
>   * [Gabe's funeral.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x2umzqh8r4g)
> 


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't usually do these at the start of the chapter but: important note! following this chapter i'm shifting (or at least attempting) to start a biweekly update schedule with updates on tuesday and friday. 
> 
> this is not only necessary to prevent me from getting burnt out on this work, but it also means that you'll get _much_ lengthier updates! it's a win on both sides. thank you for your understanding and for all the love you guys have shown my beautiful brainchild of a fic so far.

_“God fucking_ **_damn it,_ ** _Dad!”_

After Jesse uttered those words, Genji knew nothing would ever be the same again.

His heart, his body, his mind…  Everything that made up Jesse McCree had been shattered beyond any hope of repair. His fists beat against the wall of the funeral home over and over. The screams he let out gradually became broken wails, choking and falling messily over each other as they rushed out of him.

Even as his voice grew raw, he still did not cease. It was as if his lungs had been ripped from him, his chest had been torn apart. There was nothing left in him but a brutal, burning agony. He looked as if he was dying in every way but physical.

It was a level of grief Genji had never seen before in his life. No member of the Shimada clan would ever dare conduct themselves in such a way. In everything, even the face of death, they showed unwavering restraint.

“He has not broken the wall.” the cyborg quipped, more out of observation than surprise. Despite his frantic movements, Jesse’s tuxedo remained fully intact as well.

“Perhaps it is best you leave McCree be.” Moira muttered.

Anger flashed in Genji’s eyes. He saw red even without his cybernetics. It was the first thing he’d felt besides an overwhelming sorrow since the news broke, and it was invigorating.

“No. I will _not_ leave him. I will not leave Commander Reyes or Morrison either, but _you_ should. I know Jesse much better than you could have ever hoped to, **_Dr. O’Deorain!”_ **

He spat out her title with a venom he had almost forgotten he possessed. Years of resentment condensed themselves into five syllables. From the beginning, he had never liked her. His initial unease only grew stronger as time passed, and from his talks with him, Genji knew Jesse felt the same. Even calling her a doctor felt wrong.

Moira left without a word.

 _She was not anything like Dr. Ziegler,_ Genji thought to himself. Even in her funeral clothes, Blackwatch’s lead scientist had chosen to make a spectacle of herself. A lengthy train affixed to her black dress was the last he saw of her as she stalked out. Angela was dressed far more simply. The medic looked startlingly fragile outside the confines of her Valkyrie attire, her head lowered as she quietly made her way inside to fill the space Moira had left behind. She too said nothing, but out of respect rather than spite.

Genji adored her. The merciful, wonderful Dr. Ziegler that saved him from death…

For all her talents, she could not save the commanders.

No one could blame her. There was nothing left of them to save. No bodies to mourn over at the coroner’s office, no caskets to lower or ashes to scatter at these funerals. No biological proof that the duo had ever been, besides the shared knowledge that they no longer were. Reyes and Morrison’s dog tags lay side-by-side on the table atop two neatly trifolded American flags.

Both the hero and the unsung hero became unknown soldiers. Two men that seemed larger-than-life were abruptly reduced to only four plates of metal in their deaths. Neither of the Blackwatch agents present had been able to bring themselves to look at the first pair.

Instead, Genji watched Angela examine both pairs. By his count, roughly six other people had entered before her. All of them had said variants of the same thing.

“Gabriel was _Catholic?”_

“So he had written, yes. Commander Morrison was, ah, a Presbyterian.” Genji replied, struggling momentarily with the word.

“I could see it in Jack, but I never thought _anyone_ in Blackwatch was religious, let alone him…”

Her gaze flickered between the two living men standing there before she added quickly that she _meant no offence to either of them, of course._

“I have never understood religion myself, but I cannot speak for anyone else.” Genji shrugged.

Jesse, on the other hand, made no indication of hearing her. The noises that came from his worn throat had long since become incoherent, but now they sounded almost inhuman.

“I apologize for the interruption, but, ah.. Have you all determined what you wish to do with these?”

The director of the funeral home had slunk in. He was a scrawny-looking man, who had a habit of wringing his hands and only communicating with them through slight gestures of his head. All of the staff were unprepared for the tremendous undertaking of handling twenty-something international figureheads present to pay their respects to the commanders, but none made that clearer than him.

Angela quickly made her exit. Genji did not blame her. Truthfully, he would have left himself if not for his renewed sense of duty. He was his best friend’s protector, and both of them stood vigil for the fallen commanders.

Jesse’s head whipped toward him.

“Commander— Reyes’ are mine.”

It was the first coherent words he had managed to get out. His voice was hoarse and clearly still anguished.

“McCree, right? Are you his next-of-kin?”

“It’s Jesse, actually. Jesse McCree. I am.”

“And what is your relation to him?”

“I’m his son.”

Genji’s eyes widened, but he said nothing. The director nodded quickly and began shuffling through a sheaf of papers on the table before glancing up again. His Adam’s apple bobbed like a fishing lure.

“Sir, I really am sorry about this, but we, er, don’t have you on file here. According to law, we can’t—”

Jesse abruptly moved to the table, his palms slamming against the table as he spoke through grit teeth.

“Gabriel Reyes was my **_father,_ ** and he’s **_dead,_ ** so I would mighty appreciate it if you had a little **_fucking_ ** respect for the only pieces of him I have left!”

The papers scattered to the floor. The director rapidly stammered out something unintelligible, likely an apology of some sort, then rushed out of the room. As he went to console Jesse, Genji saw that Gabriel’s dog tags had been laid to rest in the most appropriate manner.

They were fastened against the tanned skin of his neck.

* * *

Jesse had been much more composed at Commander Morrison’s funeral earlier that morning, but he could no longer maintain the mask he had worn with such few cracks for the past 48 hours.

No, Genji knew there was no hope of it, not once his best friend saw the pall-covered cross that rested by the altar in place of Commander Reyes’ body. He did not envy Jesse, or the grief that seemed to radiate off of him in waves from where he was seated next to him. For once, the younger Shimada brother was grateful he had been trained as a child to remain stoic.

Moira had not shown her face at either funeral, or if she had, she had been in and out so swiftly that no one had seen her. Nobody would dare to say it out loud, but he could sense that almost everyone was grateful she was not present. In her absence — and given Jesse’s state, — there was just one person who could possibly save face for Blackwatch.

Genji supposed it was only fitting that it be him, the member who had spent the least time there.

“Lord, we humbly present our prayers for the soul of your dutiful and most beloved servant, Gabriel Reyes, who you have so soon called out of this world. We ask you not to deliver it into the hands of the enemy, nor to forget it, but to command the holy angels to receive it and bear it into eternal paradise.”

The priest’s voice was solemn to the point of sounding almost robotic. Jesse fell to his knees as the Blackwatch commander’s last rites continued.

His hat went flying, and landed askew by one of the pews. Genji silently got up and slipped over to where Reinhardt, Torbjörn, and most of the remaining founding members were seated in order to retrieve it.

“We ask that you forgive his sins in order to save him from the pains of hell, and from the bottomless pit. Ensure that his soul falls not into darkness, but into the light of redemption. _Amen.”_

Gently, he set Jesse’s hat beside him and watched as holy water was poured over the cross. As a chorus rang out in reply from the gathered past members of Overwatch, Genji bowed his head deeply and chimed in.

Their broad mix of accents almost blended completely together in agreement, but one Southern twang was clearly the loudest among them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, sweet sweet angst. i'm not catholic, i was raised methodist, so i apologize if i butchered the rites.
> 
> kudos/comments/subs/bookmarks make my heart beat fast, i want this to last, _need you in my life—_
> 
> [tumblr](http://okamicree.tumblr.com/tagged/works)


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which quite a lot of things happen, all involving Gabriel Reyes.

Reyes cocked his gun, aiming towards the man crumpled on the ground next to him.

Jack hadn't done his job well enough. They both were bleeding profusely, but neither of them were dead from their wounds. The walls of their joint conference room were soundproof to anyone outside of it, though as the fire alarms blared, he was fairly sure everyone besides the two of them had escaped into the night by now.

Even if they hadn’t, it was past him to care. Reyes had no more sympathy, no pity left in him for the members of Overwatch. Moira had already left the organization entirely, in tandem with him. He felt _something_ in his chest when he thought of Jesse, but he could no longer pinpoint any emotion in himself besides anger.

The commanders wouldn't die; no, _he_ would not die at the least. Reyes would make it out of Switzerland with his life, no matter if Morrison did or not. He was to make certain of that.

Jack struck out suddenly, the last of his strength managing to knock his shotguns out of his hands.

He readied his rifle, fully intent on emptying whatever few bullets remained in it directly into Reyes’ body. He had a fiery determination in his eyes as he fixed on his target.

It was a look that Reyes hadn't seen in years; a hallmark of their Soldier Enhancement Program days.

**_"I've got you in my sights."_ **

Three shots landed precisely, but he didn't have the chance to fire another one.

Reyes felt something in him awaken, a violent rage ready to be made physically manifest. The more his body threatened to break, the more he commanded himself to continue. He might have been slower on his feet than the strike commander was, but he was faster in his firing once he was able to grab his shotguns again.

**_"Die, die, die!"_ **

A deathly bellow came from his throat. His hands moved almost involuntarily as his shotguns blasted around him with enough force to shatter the windows of the building completely.

Exposed to the air at this high of an altitude, the wind howled around them. The upper structures shook, threatening to collapse on top of them if the battle dragged on for long enough. Reyes was certain it wouldn’t, Jack was surely dead. As his energy left him, his shotguns lowered to his sides.

He nearly choked.

Somehow, _impossibly,_ Morrison was still standing among the shattered glass.

His healing chemicals appeared to have activated at the last moment — Reyes could see their glow dimly, — but it was more evident in the way his bullet holes were closing as if they were only pock-marks.

Reyes lunged for his throat. The commanders had no time to reload, no time to think, not a second to spare in their gladiator-esque fight to the end. Neither of them had the bullets left to fight on, regardless.

Jack dodged him, pinned him down, and reversed the situation with a violent twist of his arm.

"You should have never fought alongside me. You were never worthy of it!" Jack spat, his face contorting in disgust.

He struck Reyes in the side with the butt of his rifle, hard enough to break _something,_ but he was unsure what. Reyes, in turn, slammed the barrel of his shotgun into the side of Jack's face.

"That's easy to say when I was the one hauling your garbage, Morrison!"

"You and O'Deorain were disgraces to our entire organization! You violated every known manner of ethics in Blackwatch, let alone _her_ bastard experiments!"

Blood coated them both. It was impossible to tell whose was whose.

"You son of a bitch."

Their hands simultaneously wrapped around each other's throats, grappling only to see who would manage to crush the other's windpipe first. It was only the blast of the building finally collapsing in on itself that tore them apart.

Gabriel swiftly shifted into his new form. He struggled to manage what he called his 'wraith'. It felt inhuman; something intrinsically wrong as he disconnected himself from the physical world. That, he supposed, was the point of it. He was entirely numb, inside and out. His eyes did not move from Jack's rifle.

It hurtled through the air from the force of the blast, but Morrison himself was nowhere to be seen. Reyes was certain that this time, he was dead. There was no question. Jack was strong, but he couldn't survive everything. No man could.

Talon made contact with him once he'd gotten far enough away from ground zero, and someone on the other end of his earpiece was insistent that they would come fetch him as soon as possible. They had to get Akande out of prison soon, and then he would think of what to do with the rest of his life.

He reached up towards his neck, only to find his dog tags had been ripped off of him at some point by Morrison in their fighting. _It's good riddance,_ he thought to himself. For all intents and purposes, the world was rid of both Jack Morrison _and_ Gabriel Reyes now.

He silently donned the mask Moira handed to him as he stepped onto the Talon dropship.

Humanity had scorned Reyes, but it would fear the Reaper.

* * *

Jesse lacks any more rolling papers, and so he worries his bottom lip between his teeth instead.

The need for the sandman’s approach is lingering in the back of his mind, but sleep has so far eluded him. It seems to have left _both_ of them, in fact, as Hanzo’s voice rings out in the dark.

“I mean not to anger you again, but I must sate my curiosity. Why _are_ you wearing those dog tags? If you are not their original owner, then who is Gabriel Reyes?”

 _“Shi-i-et,_ ya really don’t keep up with the news, do ya?”

Hanzo scoffs.

“No, I do not. I spend most of my time trying to _survive,_ not watching cable.”

Jesse really can’t argue with that one. He reaches up and turns on the dim light lodged in the roof, then kicks a bit at the plastic mat beneath his feet — their latest cheap lodging is the comfortable seats of the car that they’ve stolen.

His hat rests on the dashboard.

Jesse’s taken the passenger seat in front, while Hanzo’s in the back. The elder Shimada is sprawled out there, his sock-covered legs resting up on the seats and his torso reclined against the left side window. The lights of Route 66’s only airport are a dim flicker in the distance. They’ll head there tomorrow, but after all the excitement of the day, the duo had agreed that some time to rest was in order.

“Gabriel was in charge of us. Our commander, that was Reyes… I miss him just about every waking day.”

Hanzo furrows his brows in confusion, though he emphasizes with the last sentiment.

“I thought I saw the Overwatch emblem there on one of them… Yes, I do not follow the news much, but to the best of my knowledge that organization was commanded by a man named Jack Morrison.”

“Oh, yeah, it was. But we weren’t Overwatch, naw… We were _Blackwatch!”_ Jesse proclaims.

He puffs out his chest slightly, reflexively reaching upward to touch the aforementioned tags. They jingle softly in the momentary silence before he continues on.

“Putting it simply. we were the people who did all of Overwatch’s dirty work. Whatever shit Commander Morrison either couldn’t do, or what he was too much of a coward to order them to. So of course, Reyes, he never got along with ol’ Jackie-boy much. Never really got along much with _anybody._ They were in the war together, same regiment during the first Omnic Crisis.”

“How do you know all this?”

Hanzo’s unwittingly opened the floodgates. With a loud _thunk,_ Jesse wrenches his seat backward.

“There is no room!”

“Shuddup, you’re the one who asked me first. I got a whole story that needs tellin’ now.”

“You are a—”

“It involves your brother.” Jesse teases.

The back of the car falls silent for a long moment.

“Please, forgive my rudeness. I am quite interested. Go on.”

Jesse runs his right hand along the metal plates of Reyes’ tags almost reverently, feeling each letter under the skin of his fingertips and tracing along their shapes as he speaks.

“Commander Reyes was a damn good man, one of the bravest, strongest, best men I ever knew. Morrison was too. They had real hard jobs, ‘specially Reyes. I want to make that right clear before I get into everything, so’s you know I’m not speakin’ ill of the dead — just the truth of their lives.”

Jesse inhales, then exhales. Rain drums against the car, a soft accompaniment to his tale. His breath fogs up the window. He watches the condensation on the glass as it dissipates into the night.

“The commander, he didn’t always do right. Had some shady ways a’ dealing with people, didn’t always stick to the plan… but he was good at heart. Some people definitely would fight me on that accord, but I knew him real well. They took me in when I didn’t have nobody else in the world, gave me a chance to turn things around.”

“Pardon, but, were you, ah… An orphan?”

Jesse bites his lip.

“Never had parents, so I reckon you could say that.”

* * *

The child’s wails were almost as loud as the approaching sirens.

_“¡Mamá! ¡Papá!”_

“The hell do we do with him?”

“I mean, I guess we can take him. Long as the little bastard grows up to know we don’t owe him _shit,_ but he owes us _everything.”_

Jesse heard that speech recounted often as he came of age under Deadlock. Whenever he would get particularly mouthy, whoever his handler was at the time would snap the last words back at him. It was almost like they’d been trained to.

The story, as it had always been explained to him, was that his parents had given him up. He had been left by the roadside to die, but some members of the gang had just coincidentally happened to stumble upon his toddler self after a heist. They decided to take him in.

As such, a young McCree was unable to ever defect from the gang — under threat of capital punishment.

He participated in the gang’s work as he was groomed to, but not entirely willingly. Sure, he’d enjoyed stealing the occasional candy now and them when he was first starting off in the world of thievery, but not so much the gratuitous murder. The first time he pulled the trigger, he still can’t recall. The bulk of his Deadlock years is a blur, colored with blood and desert sand.

However, he remembers one moment clearly: when it all came crashing down.

The gang was set to hijack a train. The plan had failed, and it had failed spectacularly. His current handler was an idiot. Somehow, he’d failed to notice the government insignias on the side of the train.

Blackwatch had intervened and cleaned up the situation before the news had a chance to break. It was part of a policy that would become increasingly familiar. Every Deadlock-affiliated participant in the would-be hijacking was dead, save for him. _Finally,_ his chance of escape had come.

His hands shot up in surrender.

* * *

Moments later, Jesse was hustled aboard an unfamiliar dropship by a tired-looking man whose tan skin nearly matched his own.

“Go — we’ll deal with this once we’re airborne.” he barked to the pilot.

The ship ascended rapidly. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, a voice crackled from the front.

“We’re out of their airspace. All good, Commander.”

The man sat down next to him, stretching out his legs as he looked the boy in the eyes.

“You know English? _¿O hablas español?”_

 _“Se ambos,_ but I prefer this one if ya don’t mind.”

The man nodded.

“Alright, kid. What’s your name?”

“McCr—”

The word lodged in his throat. _No_ , he thought with relief, _he was no longer part of Deadlock._

“It’s Jesse. Jesse McCree.”

It was the first time the teenager had ever said his full name without fear.

“Jesse… Okay. You’re in a _hell_ of a lot of trouble, Jesse, but it’s better than getting shot dead.”

The man’s eyes flashed in recognition.

“Oh, wait a second! McCree, McCree… I’ve heard that last name before.”

He picked up a holopad that had been lying on the ground between them. The article that showed on its screen shattered the Deadlock gang’s explanation of his past in an instant.

His parents were the only civilian casualties in a diner robbery.

“They lied to me.” Jesse whispered.

He was too shocked to cry.

“I’m sorry, kid.”

The screen went dark again, and all was silent for a moment as the man fished something out of his pocket and bent forward. When he leaned back, he had something lit between his teeth.

“Aren’t ya not allowed to smoke on planes?”

“Good thing this isn’t a plane. Now, I’m gonna tell you why this is better than being dead, ‘sides the obvious: you got a choice here.”

Jesse’s eyes narrowed.

“What are my choices?”

“You either go to prison and waste away there for the rest of your life, after being tried as an adult due to the severity of your crimes, or…”

The man grinned devilishly, taking a long drag of the paper in his mouth.

“You join me, and we’ll get rid of criminal _pendejos_ all over the world together.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“The name’s Gabriel Reyes. I’m the commander of a covert operations team. There, that’s more than most people know about me.”

He took the lit paper out of his mouth, offering it to Jesse.

“So, we have an agreement?”

Slowly, the boy nodded his head. He put the paper between his lips, launching into a coughing fit upon his first inhale.

The man — _Reyes,_ Jesse corrected himself, — broke into laughter.

“Oh, _¡la hostia!_ You’ve never smoked before, have you?” he cackled as he began quickly patting him on the back.

Jesse shook his head.

“Alright, I’ll help you. You gotta take it slower. Like, ‘40 year-old virgin trying real hard not to disappoint a hooker’ slow.”

Reyes took the paper from him and demonstrated. His breath was slow and even, both as he inhaled and as he exhaled. For show, he blew a few rings.

“Can you teach me how to do that? T-those circles you just did. Looked mighty cool.”

“Damn, aren’t you the eager student? Alright, watch my lips…“

So it was that, after much effort and a whole other joint later, Jesse learned the correct way to smoke weed.

“There ya go.” Reyes grinned as the boy blew a small ring in his direction and chuckled quietly, resting his head on his hands.

“Y’know, kid, ya look like a cowboy like that. Proper _vaquero.”_

Reyes’ eyes lit up suddenly, and he got up from his seat. Jesse’s eyes trailed him as he crossed over to the cargo storage. When he returned, he set a wrinkled garment in the boy’s lap.

“Here. These are gonna be a little big on ya, but I’m sure you’ll grow into ‘em.”

Jesse glanced down.

In his lap, wrapped in a cloth, was an old-fashioned cowboy hat. Gold-plated shiny bullet shells were attached in a ring around its middle, and in the very center of the brown fabric, between the bullets, was a glistening metal buckle. As he lifted up the rich red cloth, he saw it had a chain-link sort of pattern sewn in a lighter color near its edges.

They were, by far, the nicest (and most fancy-looking) things Jesse had ever owned.

Reyes took the hat from him, only to set it on his head a moment later.

“By the power invested in me by none other than my own damn self, I officially dub you Agent McCree.”

Jesse stood up and tied the cloth around his neck.

“Welcome to Blackwatch, kid. You’re by far the best-dressed of us now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at almost 3k, this is by far the biggest update yet. this schedule's working fantastically for me. i switched to **monday and friday** rather than tuesday and friday, because it just makes more sense to have it at the start and end of the weekdays.
> 
> sad personal note: a close family friend, who i considered a grandfather (only one i've ever had since my real ones died either before i was born or very young) passed away on the 21st. i didn't find out until the 23rd.
> 
> it's helped me write more than usual, but friday's update may be shorter. the grief hasn't really hit me yet but i'm guessing it will have by then. his memorial is saturday, the funeral is tuesday. my father is one of the pallbearers. if you're of the praying sort, please pray for his spirit and for the wife he left behind. she has dementia and doesn't even remember he's passed, nor did she recognize me. it's all very heartbreaking.
> 
> anyways! on a non-sad note: we've not only passed 300 hits and 10k words, but i've also written some smut oneshots over the past few days. you might like to check those out if you're a fan of **[mchanzo](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1054358)** or [**reaper76**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15014630).
> 
> as always, thank you for reading. kudos/comments/subs/bookmarks are what i live for, especially comments. feel free to contact me on [**tumblr**](http://okamicree.tumblr.com/) as well. <3


	8. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a lot of things happen, all involving Genji Shimada.
> 
> TW: suicide mention.

Out of all the information that Jesse McCree has chosen to divulge to him in the past few hours, it’s the story of his upbringing that takes Hanzo’s heartstrings and jerks them around.

Of course, he pities the other man, but there are more pressing matters to be dealt with. The thought of his brother being alive, but in the form of whatever that was on the screen before him… It makes Hanzo sick to his stomach. Nevertheless, he has to find out everything and anything that he can about it from Jesse.

“I am sorry to hear about your past, but what about Genji? Well, whatever claims to be him.”

There’s a teasing lilt to Jesse’s voice as he replies.

“Well, I just told you some of _my_ childhood stories, so now you’ve gotta be a gentleman and return the favor. It’s only fair, y’know.”

Hanzo sighs deeply, and the back of his head thumps softly against the window. It’s taken all of his willpower to resist kicking _something._ With any luck, the lucky recipient of his martial artistry will be either the back of the seat in front of him, or the head of its smug occupant.

“You immature… No. Absolutely not.”

Jesse’s turned to face him now, a soft smile peering out beside the headrest. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle as the cowboy laughs, a warm and deep sound from his chest. The sound is congruent with one from his past. It starts to drag him backward, down into Hanamura again. Genji’s eternally boyish laughter rings in his ears there, often followed by a reprimand from Father.

“If that’s all you got, well, then tellin’ you all that done tired me out, Han. But I’ll tell ya that if you make it worth the while, I can _prove_ that’s your brother.”

Jesse may have beat Hanzo to within an inch of his life hours ago, but the real pain has only come now. Both he and Genji have managed to summon an inexplicable mix of emotions in his mind, and a strange fuzzy sort of feeling in his heart.

“Alright. Very well. I will tell you.”

The bowman hears a quieter _ka-thunk,_ then finds that he has room to stretch out once again. Jesse seems to have only shifted in order to grab his hat, but the man behind him is grateful nonetheless as he watches the fingers of his right hand rub circles into the fabric. He fights like a man, physically and otherwise.

If nothing else, Hanzo can respect that about him as he admits defeat.

* * *

Crowds had gathered in the streets as the sound of bells rang out.

The echoes of noise from the temples had a clear meaning: the new year was finally upon them. It was a joyous event, and Hanzo could almost forget the weight of the future that rested on his back as Genji dropped down beside him on the floor of the clan home’s balcony. Father had often chastised him for not being more aware of his surroundings, but the heir protested that he really couldn’t help it. Genji had an uncanny ability to sneak up on people.

This was just one more incident that proved it.

_“Hanija!”_

That was Genji’s favorite title for him; a pun off of the first syllable of his name and one of the ways you could say ‘elder brother’.

“You know, you could call my name _before_ you scare the hell out of me.” Hanzo groused.

Genji cackled, his eyes as bright as the lanterns that had been strung up around them. He grinned as he crossed his legs.

“Oh, you curse now? So daring, imagine the scandals… We see each other so rarely, brother, I have to have a little fun.”

Hanzo’s firmly set jaw relaxed as he saw a stack of brightly colored papers fall onto the wood from his younger brother’s hands. Opening their new year envelopes together — and quite heatedly dividing up the spoils — was a time-honored tradition between the two.

“Have you gotten all of them?”

Genji rolled his eyes.

“Of course I did. That’s all eight of them.”

Hanzo was meticulous about many things, but especially this matter. He would prepare as soon as he awoke in the morning, calculating _exactly_ how many they should have by the time evening came — just in case Genji tried to cheat him. The tradition of counting the envelopes had started when they were young boys. The elder Shimada brother had taken the lead since Genji was both clueless on how to do the math, and more interested in the shiny foil. He nodded in affirmation, satisfied. The numbers matched up with the figures in his head: there were four from their grandparents, two from their parents, and two from their bodyguards.

“Father’s generous as usual.”

“Grandma skimped on me.”

“Well, _you’re_ not going to be _kumicho._ ”

“Ah, but Izuku gave me a lot!”

“Yeah, because Father pays him.”

“No, because I don’t have a stick up my ass.”

“What, you think you’re more likable than me?”

“Are you saying I’m _not?”_

The bickering between them was so common, an onlooker could almost mistake them for normal siblings. Finally, with two piles of bills sitting between them, they had reached the last envelope. Their mother’s neat handwriting stared back at them.

“I nearly startled Mother half to death when I got this one. She seemed to have forgotten what today was.”

Genji exhaled through his teeth. After the mention of their mother, both teenagers fell silent for a while. They watched the people celebrating below. There were countless happy families; mothers holding their babies close, fathers carrying their sons aloft, siblings squabbling before the parents intervened — not their guards. It was a normalcy neither of them had ever known.

“Why does Father not help her?”

Genji’s voice was a pained whisper, struggling to make itself heard above the bustle of the crowd.

“Father is a powerful man. He is not a miracle-worker.” Hanzo answered, his own words made heavy by the heart in his throat.

Their parents had been gods in their boyhood. Now they were mere mortals, made human by the light of so many sunrises that had passed. Genji’s next words were bitter, and out of the corner of his eye Hanzo saw his fists clenching around air as he scoffed.

“What good is power if he cannot help the ones most important to him?”

Hanzo lifted his head and turned to look at his brother fully. Their eyes locked, and anger reflected on both of their faces.

“Don’t speak of him that way.” the elder Shimada growled.

“Why not?”

“That is our _father,_ and the head of our clan!”

Genji’s eyes narrowed.

“Just because you’re next in line to be _kumicho_ doesn’t mean you need to be the clan’s lapdog!”

“You have no idea the pressures I am under. I care for Mother just as much as you do, but we cannot save her! Nothing can save her! Not Father, not the elders, nothing!”

“Who supplies her with the damned drugs? The clan lines their pockets with our mother’s blood!”

“She would die without them now!”

Their arguing paused momentarily as both brothers glanced behind them, then shouted at each other in unison.

**_“Be silent!”_ **

Sojiro had come, with their mother in tow.

* * *

“Damn… He’s always been that sneaky? I thought that was just a side effect of all his cybernetic stuff. So, what happened after that?”

Jesse’s watching him with rapt attention, almost like a puppy.

“I will tell you that tomorrow. Now, would you tell me _your_ story about my brother already?”

Hanzo can’t help but smirk as Jesse’s mouth opens, then shuts again. His gaze flickers to the clock on the dashboard. Time has passed quicker than he thought.

“We, ah… Should get rest for the flight.” Jesse mumbles.

“Surely you have time for one before bed.”

The cowboy rests his head on his hands for a moment before he begins. Hanzo leans back, pleased in his victory.

“This one’s a happier story, but you gotta remember what I was saying earlier about ‘em: Reyes don’t take no shit from nobody, but the commanders are good at heart.”

Hanzo’s brows furrow.

“You mean they _were.”_

Jesse’s quiet for a long moment, then sighs deeply.

“Yeah. They were.”

* * *

The dark was quiet, the time somewhere in the space before sunrise but past midnight.

Jesse had crept through the hallways of the Gibraltar base as if it was enemy territory. Upon escaping the confines of the base and taking a breath of the warm summer air, that breath nearly left him entirely. Genji had followed in his footsteps, a silent shadow behind him. While this made him an excellent assassin, it had the added effect of making him _terrible_ at not startling his allies. The duo would leave the living quarters together in a planned effort, but Jesse somehow always underestimated how quickly Genji could follow him.

He sat down beside the gunslinger as he retrieved his smoking supplies from where he’d stashed them, an amused glint in his eyes. Commander Reyes had chewed them out over their first session in the Blackwatch dormitory. He could smell the smoke the moment he entered, and his predicted laissez-faire attitude about the matter was gone after Jesse’s behavior in Rialto. A reminder of it was still clear on the sides of his face.

So it was that Jesse and Genji smoked outside now, when the hour was late and they could be far from any prying eyes.

A strange shift had occurred in Blackwatch in the days following Venice. Genji spoke more and more among the group, while Reyes spoke less and less. The commander frequently met with Moira privately, though both of the other agents thought it better not to ask what about.

It was, as Commander Morrison often said, plausible deniability.

“Do you ever think about home?” the assassin asked.

“Never had much ‘a one.” Jesse replied, visibly relaxing as he leaned against the back of an empty storage container.

The smoke curled above them like a noose. Genji nodded empathetically, tapping the end of the joint against the metal of his faceplate which rested between them.

“I know the feeling.”

After learning that the tricks he could do with cigarettes still applied to joints, Genji was an even bigger fan of Jesse’s medicinal herb of choice. As he exhaled, smoke exited through both his mouth and nose at once. He had long since put Jesse’s rings to shame, but _this_ feat? Well, Jesse had never seen anything like it.

“Hey, do that again. Ya look like a dragon. Like, a very shiny, metal dragon.”

Genji laughed as he complied with the request, and his eyes crinkled into pleased crescents. He was obviously quite proud of himself as he exhaled in Jesse’s direction.

“Would you like me to teach you?”

The gunslinger nodded eagerly.

“Who taught ya how to do that?”

“Hanzo. He used to smoke cigars. Once my father found him not only smoking, but showing off like that, he went after my brother so severely that he refused to do it again.”

“Your daddy was a drug _kingpin,_ and he didn’t like smoking?”

Genji shrugged.

“He saw what drugs did to my mother, he would not make the same mistake twice.”

With those words, he passed the joint to Jesse. The other man took a long drag, attempting (and failing) to replicate the assassin’s trick. After he recovered from his coughing fit, he fixed his eyes on the ground.

“Pardon me for askin’, but what happened to your mama anyway?”

The silence seemed to last an eternity.

“Suicide. An overdose. She wanted to be with my father—” he cut himself off, shutting his eyes tightly to gather himself before he continued.

“—and with me.”

* * *

The next morning, Jesse wakes up just as the sun has begun to rise.

A glance backward shows him that Hanzo’s still fast asleep, holding his bow close to his chest as if it were a teddy bear. After their conversation, the bowman had promptly gone to bed. Jesse asked if it was sufficient proof, to which Hanzo had only replied that he 'had a lot to think on'. Even the door slamming shut as Jesse moves to the driver’s seat fails to wake him.

“Hey, get up.”

Hanzo’s head lifts up as the keys turn in the ignition.

“We’re going already?”

“Bright and early, sunshine.” Jesse chuckles.

The engine rumbles as they start off on the road toward the airport, and so does a smoky figure as it suddenly materializes in the seat across from Jesse.

“Stop the car and get out _now._ Don’t you try any bullshit. I see one sudden move from either of you, you’re gone.”

 _God,_ is Hanzo tired of having guns pointed at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hfghhh brain fucky. it's getting so good now.
> 
> comments/kudos/bookmarks/subs/any interaction makes me so warm and soft. also we passed 400 hits! wew! it's kinda disheartening that my smut oneshots get more hits in one day than this fic does in almost two weeks BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I LOVE THIS FIC AND THAT'S WHAT MATTERS.
> 
> but yeah, reminder again i've written some oneshots, so you might like to check those out if you're a fan of **[mchanzo](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1054358)** or [**reaper76**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15014630).
> 
> as always, thank you for reading and feel free to contact me on [**tumblr**](http://okamicree.tumblr.com/) as well. <3


	9. IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jesse loses his shit, part I.

The plan’s gone far easier than he expected it to go.

Reyes had really thought he would get more of a fight out of them, but McCree complies willingly with his instructions. The Shimada bastard does too — _Hanzo,_ if he recalls correctly.

Neither of them seem to have any sense of self-preservation. It must run in the family with the Shimadas, while McCree is just a case of how old habits die hard. However, neither of them would dare risk the other getting hurt. It was a morbid ‘Gift of the Magi’ scenario.

As he leads them aboard a Talon dropship, the thought passes his mind that they might recognize him. Or, rather, Jesse might.

He will not allow them to know what face lies beneath his mask, not if he can help it, but he decides that he will not deny it if either of the men manage to discern what (or rather, who) he is. The man’s spent enough time lying.

Reaper may not have anything even resembling a conscience, but Reyes is still lurking deep beneath the surface. They oppose one another at times, they agree at others. It’s a constant battle between the two warring factions of his mind, though the more violent option almost always wins out.

Of course Reyes wonders what's become of his former protege; he hasn't bothered to keep track of Jesse for the most part. Still, he doesn't hesitate to press the side of his shotgun harder into the side of his head as a warning.

He looks mostly the same, although his left arm has been replaced — for a moment, Reyes wonders what's happened in the interim, but quickly refocuses himself. He cannot afford to have anything, any latent feeling, distract him from the work he has to do. Why the Reaper's decided to spare these two in particular will be difficult to explain to the higher-ups in Talon, namely Akande, but he can't bring himself to kill them. Their weapons fall at their feet and then promptly into the clutches of Talon security.

McCree looks almost like a deer in the headlights: both defenseless and clueless as hell. Reyes knows he couldn't see the gunslinger dead at his own hand, even just thinking about it gives him a twinge of _something._

It's hard to discern the faint pangs of emotion in his chest from one another. The only constant emotion he can pinpoint clearly is anger, and that feeling is the strongest — like adrenaline coursing strongly through the Reaper’s weak veins. At any given time, he feels either anger, those faint pangs, or an empty numbness that's only covered by the overwhelming brutality of his physical pain.

After all, his body is constantly regenerating and degenerating, which is really just about as painful as it sounds. A host of various conditions that resulted from his experimentation ensure the man’s in constant pain, every waking and sleeping moment. It is something no painkillers can relieve and no cocktail of drugs can alter. It was the steep price he paid for power so long ago.

Some days Reyes wonders if it was worth it, to feel nothing within his heart and yet feel the pain of every cell in his body.

He wonders if Genji felt the same way, reminded of it by the way Hanzo collapses to the ground once they get onboard. His face is even paler than before, his upper body lurching.

“Textbook motion sickness.” Moira murmurs as she approaches, the heels of her shoes clicking against the ground.

Concern flashes in Jesse’s auburn eyes, but shifts rapidly to pure fury.

“It’s you, you fucking bitch! You _goddamn_ _traitor!”_ he snarls.

Whatever bond there is between Jesse and Hanzo, it doesn’t measure up against his anger over the ones that Moira broke. He lunges for her, managing to grab the hem of her lab coat in a death grip before security pries his hands off of the fabric.

“This is what you were doing while we buried the goddamn commanders?! Working for _Talon?!”_ he spits, pointing at her.

His teeth are bared, and the veins in his neck are prominent under the harsh fluorescent lights. The murderous rage in him is so strong that it takes three men to hold him back. Reyes, however, is not one of them; he knows how hard McCree can punch.

On her end, Moira appears completely — _disturbingly_ — unfazed.

“That is correct. Now, I trust that all of you have business to attend to.”

* * *

 As he opens the door of the interrogation room, the Reaper quickly glances around in order to ensure there are no grunts lurking too close to the entrance.

He can't risk any potential intelligence being compromised; not when the stakes are this high. Besides, any security he may need is only a few movements of his hand away. The metal door slams shut behind them, almost vault-like.

"Alright, you’re in a whole lot of trouble, McCree… but it’s a hell of a lot better than being shot dead. What do you know about the whereabouts of Genji Shimada?" he questions coolly, leaning forward in the steel chair.

A camera feed is set up on the wall behind him, displaying where Hanzo's been sent off to. He rises up from the floor of the holding cell and starts pacing as Moira’s lips move. There’s no audio to accompany the visual, but the expression on the his face makes it clear that something severely unpleasant is going down over there.

"I ain't tellin' you _shit,_ ya Talon bastard."

“After your little stunt earlier, I would keep the safety of your little friend in mind."

Jesse’s jaw clenches tightly, in tandem with his fists. It’s no cause for concern. He knows he can’t attack, not now. The kid may not care for himself, but he won’t dare to risk any harm befalling Hanzo — especially if he would be helpless to stop it.

"I don't know anything.” Jesse finally replies, his voice measured.

He’s full of shit. Reyes can see it as clear as day. The tone of his voice is the exact same he used whenever Jack wanted a mission debriefing, and Jesse would tell him to _go ask his commander, because he himself sure didn’t know a thing about what Overwatch’s central command was askin’._

“Let’s not lie to each other here, McCree. You both are coming with me anyway, so there’s no use in playing charades.”

The Reaper settles his palms on the desk. Smoke begins curling around the digits of his gloved hands, a side effect of his anger. Jesse’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly.

“No, let him go! He has nothing to do with Overwatch, or any of this mess!”

Clearly, he’s struck a nerve. It brings a smirk to his face. Hanzo Shimada makes for an excellent bargaining chip. If nothing else, he’s worth keeping around solely for negotiations.

“Guy really knows nothin’, I got him involved.”

“Alright. I’ll make a deal with you. You tell me what you know, and no harm comes to him while he’s in Talon’s custody. Period.”

Jesse’s hands uncurl themselves from fists only to curl again, shakily, around his outstretched palm.

“Damn you.”

As he leans forward, something around his neck flashes in the light. Reyes hadn’t noticed earlier, but there are a pair of dog tags there — upon taking a second look, _his_ dog tags. Truthfully, he hadn’t noticed the clothes Jesse was wearing either, but now they stick out like a sore thumb.

Security arrives the moment he calls to escort him back to his cell.

As he watches the old hat and red serape disappear down the hall, Reyes is more grateful than ever that a mask covers his face.

* * *

 In his SEP days, Reyes refused to compromise.

He was a harsh leader on and off the battlefield. It was what earned him respect. During his time as Blackwatch’s commander, too, he would never negotiate if it could be avoided.

As such. his meeting with Moira is particularly distressing when he admits to the deal he made.

“You negotiated with the terrorists.” she chuckles wryly.

Her eyes watch him, hawkish, from across the table. The Reaper’s office is as dark as always, but anyone who meets with him regularly will eventually become adjusted to the low light. Fatigue from the day has already started to weigh him down, but this is urgent.

“You know, he still fights like he did back then. Besides, that’s not the important thing here, O’Deorain.” he scoffs, his head resting on his hands. It’s a familiar look for him; some things never change.

“Then what is?”

"I don’t think he knows.”

“If he knew, he certainly would have made it clear back there… But what exactly makes you so sure?”

“First, what he said earlier about the funerals. Hell, _I_ wasn’t even sure why you skipped them at first, remember?”

Moira nods curtly.

“Is that all?”

Reyes shakes his head, then breathes deeply. He winces as a jolt of pain runs through him. _The damn muscle spasms again._

“Second, I found out what happened to my tags after Switzerland.”

The pang in his chest is stronger. It’s more nonviolent emotion than he’s felt since the experimentation first began.

“He was wearing them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the shortness; i may be able to get the second part of this out today? but if not, i hope you all understand. things have been rather tough lately for me in regards to my mental health.
> 
> i hope you enjoy. comments/kudos/subs/bookmarks all mean the world to me, especially spreading the word about this fic too. i post links to each update on my [tumblr](okamicree.tumblr.com) and am happy to talk to anyone.
> 
> also! tweaked the rating & added a warning for some of the shit that went down between mcreyes that y'all have seen so far. may be more of that later? idk. the commanders' fight scene was pretty graphic so it was deserved anyway.
> 
> <3


	10. X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jesse loses his shit, part II.

The spurs of Jesse’s boots jingle against the floor. 

Hanzo’s surprised he hasn’t made a crack or two in it by now; it makes him sore just to watch. His brother’s former keeper has been pacing back and forth since he was brought here, leveling a torrent of obscenities toward the poor grunts tasked with escorting him. 

His eyes follow him as he moves. Finally, he’s gotten something interesting to keep stock of. In the lengthy stretch of time — at least, it felt like it, but he can’t be certain — that his companion was gone, Hanzo’s memorized (and criticized) the layout of the cell. One conclusion is easily drawn: for all its resources, Talon’s facilities are awful. 

The floor looks like the kind of tile like you’d find in a corner store. The mattress he’s lying on is ripped and torn in various places to expose the stuffing beneath. It can hardly fit his own lanky self, let alone the both of them. There are no windows, only bars that look out into an empty cell across from them.

Jesse seems to have considered absolutely none of this.

“What the hell did she do to you? If she hurt you, I swear to the good Lord, I’ll—”

In lieu of providing any more information, he’s settled for fussing over Hanzo instead. However, he thinks better than to complain.

“She did not touch me. I am  _ fine, _ Jesse.” 

His own voice is a sharp contrast, just as calm and collected as usual. At the sound of it, Jesse’s rapid footsteps slow and then stop entirely as he sits down at the end of the bunk. His close proximity is strangely comforting. 

Those feeling are amplified a thousandfold when Jesse takes off his cape and spreads it out on top of him like a blanket.

“Ya don’t  _ look  _ fine.” he huffs.

“We only spoke about some things.” Hanzo murmurs, his voice muffled slightly as he burrows down beneath the red fabric.

Jesse’s eyes narrow into thin slits.

“The hell did she want to talk with you about?”

Hanzo rubs his temples before turning onto his other side to face him. He really doesn’t recap the whole experience, but he supposes that he must. Nothing else would appease Jesse in his current intense state of agitation. Furthermore, he  _ really _ doesn’t want the gunslinger to get into any more violent incidents than he already has.

After all, he has no hope of finding his supposed brother by working on his own.

“Let me explain before you kill the next person that walks in here, please.”

Jesse moves to lie down next to him. Somehow, he manages to fit without shoving Hanzo onto the floor. Though they’re pressed tightly together, it’s better than nothing. His arm is an excellent pillow.

“Alright, shoot.”

* * *

The woman that stood before him was so cold and detached as she spoke that Hanzo could almost mistake her for his mother.

He had just detailed the events of the past 24 hours to her and decided to ask a question of his own: who was the person that brought them here? As it turned out, that had been one of the worst mistakes he could have ever made. She went into detail about her experiments without any hesitation.

“The Reaper, that’s the one I’m most proud of. Years of work paid off in a way neither of us could have possibly expected.” she answered, her chest puffed out slightly. 

She looked like a peacock, strutting about the room for, assumably, some weird kind of emphasis.

“Is he even human?”

_ Moira, _ Jesse had called her. The Blackwatch agent that spent an usual amount of time with Gabriel Reyes. Her lips pursed.

“No, but he started off that way. He was part of one of America’s finest human rights violations: the Soldier Enhancement Program, so he was already not human — biologically speaking, anyway. After initial testing, we put more chemicals in him.”

If she noticed the disturbed look in Hanzo’s eyes, she did not betray it. She did not elaborate further. Though he hated to admit it, he was gripped with a morbid curiosity. Perhaps Jesse knew about it, and this was why he hated her so.

“What next?”

She sat down, crossing one leg over the other as casually as if she were discussing plans for lunch.

“The chemicals only modified his personality at first. He wanted to have more of his physiology altered as well, so I did what I could. Unfortunately, changing parts of his fundamental genetic code produced some significant and unexpected results.”

Hanzo was gobsmacked.

“It’s fascinating, really.” she added. “His cells regenerate and die almost simultaneously. We’re still uncertain of the long-term effects, but it appears he could very well be immortal. He does have some side effects: pain, air condensing around him, an unusual sensitivity to light… but I think it’s well worth the trade-off to live forever.”

There was clearly something very wrong with her. She may have been a criminal, but this went above and beyond what he had thought of cruelty.

“This is not moral.”

Moira smiled.

“Neither is killing your brother.”

As she left, her damn heels clicking obnoxiously loudly down the hall, Hanzo wanted to lunge for her too.

* * *

Hanzo had fallen asleep shortly after his tale concluded, but Jesse is still wide awake. 

He watches the steady rise and fall of the other man’s chest. Thoughts of Moira are plaguing him, wrapping themselves around his chest and squeezing like a python.

Jesse knows of only two people that had been in the Soldier Enhancement Program, and both of them are dead. They  _ have _ to be dead, there is no other possible outcome. The commanders’ bodies were lost in the explosion, but they still had the tags after looking through the rubble. The corpses are probably there at ground zero, only spread out into infinitesimally small particles for miles around.

There is no other possible explanation. None. Anything else is completely irrational and illogical. Utter bullshit. Horseshit, too. Every brand of shit.

Yet, the more he thinks about it, the less he believes his own words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry for another short update i'm just v low on spoons but trust me i'm working on it friends
> 
> tumblr: okamicree
> 
> as always thank you for reading, i love comments/kudos/subs so much <3
> 
> also mayhaps check out my other works! recently put up an angels & demons au and soon.. more things will be coming... trope bingo round 11 is gonna be lit


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